‘Not immediately. I don’t think I can tell you when I first began to suspect. It was the quite freely-expressed opinion of my late father that my uncle was a bad hat, so that I started with an advantage over you in that I was prejudiced against him. Then, too, I had been privileged to observe his handling of my Uncle Henry, and of Dr Fielding. Probably that modified form of blackmail may have put the idea into my head. It – ah, burst into flower when you came to see me one day, and asked me what the name of Hyde conveyed to me. I rather think that I may have been a trifle flippant with you, Superintendent.’
‘Very,’ said Hannasyde emphatically. ‘You suggested first Parks, and then Stevenson.’
‘And no sooner was the word out of my mouth,’ said Randall, ‘than the idea of a dual personality flashed into my head. Not altogether unnaturally. You told me where Hyde lived, and I paid a call on his friend Brown, which I told you all about.’
‘Oh, not quite all, Mr Matthews!’
Randall smiled. ‘Well, let us say all that it was desirable you should know. When he was induced to divulge where Hyde had kept the key of his safe, I had no doubt that Hyde was none other than my uncle. A pleasing discovery, I can assure you.’
‘That was why you looked as though you were ripe for murder when I suggested there had been a bond of sympathy between you?’ said Hannasyde.
‘Did I ? I was certainly not flattered.’
‘When did you get the key of that safe?’
‘On the day of my uncle’s funeral. His watch-chain, with the trinkets that hung on it, were in the drawer of his dressing-table.’
‘After which,’ said Hannasyde heavily, ‘you got me to remove the detective who was watching you, so that you could visit that safe-deposit.’
Randall’s eyes gleamed. ‘My dear Superintendent, how can you say so? All I did was to complain of his boots.’
‘Well, let that go,’ said Hannasyde. ‘You put that notice in the paper so that you could get at Hyde’s papers.’
‘And I have wanted so much to ask you how you got on with the General?’ murmured Randall.
‘Never mind that now. You took everything out of the safe, and burned it?’
‘Everything except the papers relating to Rumbold. Those I kept in case of accidents.’
‘And you were going to hush the whole thing up? Let Rumbold get away with it?’
‘You must remember that I am not a policeman, Superintendent. I am merely concerned with my family’s good name.’
‘However much I personally may sympathise with that point of view, it was wrong, Mr Matthews!’
‘Well, that isn’t going to worry me,’ said Randall tranquilly.
‘Where is that statement you said you had for me?’ asked Hannasyde.
Randall looked at him with amused comprehension. ‘My dear Superintendent! Oh, but this isn’t worthy of you! Did you really think I was going to hand it you, all guileless and trusting?’
‘Where is it?’ repeated Hannasyde.
Randall finished what was left of his drink. ‘It’s in the post, of course, and will reach you at Scotland Yard tomorrow morning.’
Hannasyde smiled reluctantly. ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Randall modestly.
Hannasyde set down his glass, and rose. ‘I think I’ll go and sleep on it,’ he said. ‘You don’t seem to have left me much else to do – except clear up the mess.’
‘You wrong me, Superintendent: there’s very little mess. Much less than you would have made.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Hannasyde. ‘From your point of view that’s true enough. I take it your name doesn’t figure in Rumbold’s statement?’
‘Oh no!’ said Randall with a sleepy smile. ‘I don’t come into the case at all, my dear Superintendent.’
About the Author
Georgette Heyer wrote over fifty books, including Regency romances, mysteries, and historical fiction. Her barrister husband, Ronald Rougier, provided many of the plots for her detective novels, which are classic English country house mysteries reminiscent of Agatha Christie. Heyer was legendary for her research, historical accuracy, inventive plots, and sparkling characterization.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
About the Author
Behold, Here's Poison Page 27